Freya
Completing her meeting with Ottar, who came to report his updates, Freya felt a giddiness usually reserved for young maidens in love, not ancient goddesses of war and beauty. On the small mahogany table beside her bed rested a heavy, leather-bound book—the Grimoire. It was her gift to Max for successfully completing his week of Baptism.
Though the week had ostensibly been for his training, it had also served a dual purpose: buying time. It gave her executives the window they needed to hunt down the meddlesome parties that had dared target her new favorite.
What they found was... vexing.
Dead ends and shadows, she thought, a frown touching her lips as she remembered Ottar's report. The Evils seemed obsessed with obtaining Max. How they had caught his scent remained a mystery, but they were slippery, decentralized, and irritatingly difficult to wring truth from. Just the thought of those vermin began to sour her mood, a dark cloud encroaching on her anticipation.
She banished the thought with a shake of her head. None of them mattered now. She sat through the dull reports just for the chance to see Max walk through those heavy double doors, battered but triumphant, to excitedly share how his week had been. She wanted to see the fire in his amethyst eyes.
An hour passed. He didn't come.
Two more passed. No sign of Max.
Finally, it was past midnight. The doors remained closed.
Horn silently materialized from the shadows, her face a mask of loyal concern. "My Lady. He has holed up in his room since dinner. Shall I... retrieve him?"
The offer hung in the air—the option to drag him here by force. It would be easy.
Freya sighed, glancing at the waiting Grimoire. A strong feeling tugged at her, an intuition honed over years. There must be a reason. She didn't know what it was, but she trusted that Max, for all his contradictions, wouldn't spurn her without cause.
"No," she said softly. "Let him rest. He has endured enough for one week."
With a downcast look that she didn't bother to hide from her shadow, Freya retired for the day, slipping into her silk sheets while wondering just what occupied his mind so thoroughly that it kept him from her.
-◈ -
Max
The next day, the sun barely breached the horizon when Max's eyes snapped open.
He didn't feel the usual grogginess. Instead, a hum of energy vibrated under his skin—the thrill of his successful experiment with the Power of Destruction healing still fresh in his mind.
He jumped out of bed and hit the shower. Even though he had bathed just the night before after the baptism, he scrubbed himself clean again. Today felt important. It was the start of his true life as an adventurer.
Walking to the wardrobe, he bypassed the standard violet clothes Freya provided. Instead, he reached for his original gear—the reinforced traveler's clothes he had arrived in this world. They were repaired, cleaned, and seemingly enchanted with minor durability charms with the familiar familia emblem. Putting them on felt grounding. It reminded him of who he was before the luxury suites and drama.
Explorer of Unknowns, he thought with a smirk, adjusting his collar.
He left Kairu sleeping on a velvet pillow and headed upstairs. He was eager, practically vibrating with the need to share his week, his growth, and his breakthrough with Freya. Though it was barely 7 AM, his excitement wouldn't let him wait.
He reached the heavy double doors of the top floor. To his surprise, there were no guards. No imposing Boaz standing statue-still against the wall.
Max hesitated, hand hovering over the handle. Is she in a meeting? Or maybe asleep?
He remembered Freya's words from that first day: Treat these chambers as your own. There is no need for formality between us.
"Well, she did say that," Max muttered, turning the handle.
He entered as silently as possible, his improvised stealth skills kicking in unconsciously.
The lavishness of the room still managed to stun him. The golden morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, painting the room in soft, dreamlike hues. He scanned the area for Ottar, hoping to get some guidance from him, but the room was still.
Then he saw her.
Freya lay asleep in the center of the massive bed, a vision of tranquility amidst the sea of silk sheets.
Max's breath hitched.
He saw her regal, seductive, commanding, and playful. But he had never seen her like this. Her silver hair fanned out across the pillows like a halo of moonlight. Her expression was soft, devoid of the weight she carried every waking moment. In her nightgown, with one arm draped gracefully over the duvet, she looked less like a terrifying deity of beauty and desire and more like an enchanting doll crafted by the universe's finest artist.
Max moved quietly across the room, drawn by a gravity he couldn't resist. He reached the single velvet armchair positioned near the bed—the one Freya usually sat in while he was here last time—and sat down.
The reversal wasn't lost on him.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting in his hands, transfixed.
She's incredible, he admitted to himself, the sight effectively wiping his mind of his planned lines about healing magic.
He looked at her peaceful face, studying the curve of her lashes against her cheek. It brought up the question that had been gnawing at the back of his mind since the Falna.
What does she see in me?
Sure, he had a unique soul. He could imagine how it would look—dark with the devil's magic and light with his original soul. "Contradictory," she called it. A mish-mash of a human soul from another world stuffed into the high-spec body of a Devil Noble. It made sense that it would look weird.
But is weird enough for this level of obsession?
His mind drifted to the anime lore. He thought of Bell Cranel—the protagonist. Freya had been obsessed with him because his soul was transparent. Clear. Uncolored by the world, holding infinite potential for whatever color he chose to adopt.
Transparent versus Contradictory, Max mused, watching the gentle rise and fall of Freya's chest. Bell is a blank canvas. I'm a Jackson Pollock painting made of neon lights and destruction.
"So, is my soul actually better than his?" Max wondered, his brow furrowing slightly.
He definitely had the isekai hax—the biology, the magic system, the knowledge. But Bell possessed the ultimate cheat code: Liaris Freese. Growth purely dependent on the strength of feelings? That was protagonist bullshit of the highest order. Max checked his mental status sheet. He had Lux Tenebris—growth fueled by depth, pressure, and the quality of his enemies. It was potent, certainly, a skill that turned the Dungeon from a hazard into a gym, but was it enough to bridge the gap?
"I have a Warlord to catch," he whispered, his jaw setting. "I can't afford to be second best."
As his resolve tightened, pushing his aura outward just a fraction, Freya stirred. A soft, throaty moan escaped her lips, her body arching slightly under the silk as if her soul was vibrating in response to his sudden spike in determination.
Max felt a jolt of exhilaration shoot down his spine. Even in her sleep, she was tuned to him. She felt his ambition and reacted to it like a physical touch. It was intoxicating.
Then, the moment broke.
Her eyelids fluttered, and unlike Max—who usually spent five minutes bargaining with his alarm clock—Freya sat up in one fluid, graceful motion.
The silk sheets pooled at her waist, the thin strap of her nightgown slipping off her shoulder to dangerously expose the "sacred treasures" of the Goddess of Beauty. It was a sight that would have stopped hearts and started wars, a glimpse of perfection usually reserved for myths.
Any normal man would have been paralyzed by the sight. Max started to look—his instincts screaming to admire the view—but then his neck snapped up with the violent speed of a whip.
Damn it, he groaned internally. The ghost of NNN.
Twenty-nine days of dodging thirst traps, cosplayers, and his gym-bro accountability partner had forged a reflex of steel in his soul. His "formidable" willpower had apparently survived the truck, the reincarnation, and the Falna ritual, following him to this new world like a clingy curse. It was great for focus during the Baptism, sure, but right now? In the privacy of a goddess's bedroom? It was actively sabotaging him.
Thanks, Chad, he thought bitterly. My discipline is impeccable, and I hate it.
On cue, his gaze snapped instantly to her face. He caught the widening of her eyes, the pupils dilating in genuine shock as she found someone sitting in her sanctum before her divine senses had fully registered them.
Max focused on that raw, unguarded moment before the mask of a goddess slid back into place. I really like that look on her, he thought, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he locked eyes with her.
As if their thoughts were in sync, a slow, devastatingly beautiful smile spread across Freya's face.
"Good morning, Max," she purred, her voice thick with sleep and satisfaction. "I see you've decided to turn the tables on me."
"Good Morning, Lady Freya." Max said as he dipped his head in greeting, forcing his eyes to stay respectful despite the mental gymnastics required to ignore the goddess in her nightgown.
Freya blinked, then a slow smile curved her lips. She nodded, rubbing the sleep from her eye with an elegance that made the simple action look like a painting.
"Oh, Max," she said, her voice husky with sleep, clearly amused by his awkwardly wandering gaze and his rigid posture. "Did you come here as soon as you woke up?"
Similar to his first time in such a situation, he centered himself, pushing the distracting thoughts of silk and skin to the back of his mind, and looked into her eyes to reply.
"Yes, my lady. I apologize for not dropping by for the past week. I was... caught up in my training and experiments."
Freya gave him an indulging smile, leaning back against the headboard and gave a small nod, silently asking him to elaborate.
So, he did. He went into detail about his week on the grounds. He spoke of how most of the low levels ganged up on him like a swarm of angry bees, and how he learned to manage the crowd. He told her about the Dwarf named Trent who beat him into shape with a hammer and an axe, and how the last two days were spent playing cat-and-mouse—or rather, devil-and-prum—with Alfrigg.
Freya listened with rapt attention, her chin resting in her palm. As he described the details of his endurance, she found herself very impressed.
She knew her Falna gave his supernatural body a massive boost—multiplying his natural Devil durability—but to stand toe-to-toe with many Level 1s and 2s simultaneously was already an achievement. In addition to which he endured a direct assault from a Level 3 Veteran and a Level 4 Executive like Alfrigg, even if they were holding back, was very commendable.
She also understood Alfrigg's lapses. The Gulliver brothers were a single organism split into four bodies; Alfrigg fighting alone, without the synergy of Dvalinn, Berling, and Grer, left gaps that a perceptive fighter like Max could exploit.
"It sounds like you had a productive week," Freya murmured, her eyes tracing the bruises that had already faded from his skin. "But you mentioned 'experiments' as well? Knowing you, I assume you did not spend your nights simply sleeping."
Max grinned, the excitement of his breakthrough bubbling up again.
"Actually, that's the best part," he said, leaning forward in his chair. "I figured out how to cheat the healing system."
She smiled at him, a genuine expression of joy that lit up her features.
"A cheat to the healing system?" she repeated, intrigued. She shifted, preparing to ask him to lay forward so she could update his Falna and see the changes for herself, but Max held up a hand.
"But first," he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "A gift. To make up for my absence."
He placed his hand on the silk sheets of her massive bed.
Hum.
Crimson light bled from his palm. A complex magic circle spread across the white duvet—magnificent in its intricacy, filled with characters she couldn't identify but which held a strange, geometric beauty. It was nothing like the spell circles used by modern mages; it was older, structured differently.
As fast as it appeared, the light flashed—and Kairu materialized from thin air, bouncing happily onto Max's lap.
Before Freya could ask how he had summoned his familiar without a chant, the slime wobbled and extruded a rolled-up sheet from his body, offering it to Max.
Max gave her a wink and handed the paper to her.
Freya took it, her fingers brushing the surface. It felt peculiar—smooth but organic, with a slightly gooey texture, as if the slime had modified the parchment's very structure. Unrolling it, she saw a magic circle drawn in ink that seemed to have fused with the paper, glowing with a faint, cool purple hue.
Her eyes lit up in realization. She looked from the paper to the crimson circle fading on the bed, connecting the dots.
"Is this..." she began, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Is this your personal magic circle? To call you??"
Max gave a gleeful nod. "Just infuse a tiny bit of your desire into it. It acts as a beacon and a gateway. No matter where I am—the Dungeon, the city, the other side of the world—if you activate this, I'll come straight to you." He said with a proud smirk.
Freya stared at the parchment, running her thumb over the circle. The implications were staggering. It wasn't just a travel method; it was an unbreakable tether. The thought of being able to pluck him from wherever he was and bring him to her side at a moment's notice fed her possessiveness in a way few things ever had.
"Magnificent," she murmured, carefully placing the parchment on her bedside table as if it were a fragile treasure.
"But wait, there's more," Max said, channeling his inner salesman.
He held out his left hand. Without hesitation, he used his right thumbnail to slice a deep gash across his palm.
Freya's breath hitched. She had to fight the urge to reach out, to grab his hand and apply the healing potion herself, but Max gave her a reassuring smile.
"Watch."
He summoned his magic. The crimson-black energy didn't blast outward; it coated the wound. The blood flow stopped instantly, erased from existence. Then, before her eyes, the flesh knit together at an impossible speed, the destructive mana being pushed out as the new skin formed.
In seconds, the hand was pristine.
"Crude healing for external injuries," Max explained, wiping a speck of remaining mana away. "I use the Power of Destruction to erase the concept of the wound's openness—sealing the damage—while my natural regeneration fills the gap. It cuts recovery time by ninety percent."
Freya leaned forward, her analytical mind racing. "You are using erasure to simulate cauterization? But the mana control required to not erase healthy tissue..."
"That's the tricky part," Max grinned.
For the next few hours, the Goddess of Beauty and the Devil geeked out. Freya asked sharp, probing questions about the metaphysical implications of using destruction to aid creation, and Max answered with matching enthusiasm and logic, delighted to have someone who could actually keep up with his theories.
Knock, knock.
The heavy doors creaked open.
Horn entered, carrying a silver tray laden with breakfast. She stopped dead in her tracks.
There, sitting in the Goddess's private armchair, looking disheveled and comfortable, was Max.
Horn's grip on the tray tightened until her knuckles turned white. Her anger flared, hot and immediate. That uncouth Madman. Not only does he keep Lady Freya waiting all night, but he dares to show himself this early? And look at him—treating her sanctum like a common tavern!
"Horn, dear," Freya's voice floated through the room, soothing and calm.
Horn stiffened, the rebuke gentle but clear. She exhaled slowly, forcing her expression back to neutrality. "My apologies, my goddess. I brought your breakfast."
She walked in, setting the tray on the low table.
"Thank you," Freya smiled. "Please bring two more servings. One for Max, and one for Kairu."
Horn's eye twitched. The slime too?
But she nodded without protest. "At once, my Lady."
She swept out of the room, returning minutes later with a larger tray containing hearty adventurer portions and a bowl of magic stones for the slime. Once she arranged the food, Freya dismissed her.
"Do not disturb us for a while."
"As you command." With one final, sharp glare at the back of Max's head, Horn left the chambers, closing the doors with precise, heavy finality.
Freya stood, stretching languidly. "Let me freshen up. We can have breakfast together."
With an enticing sway of her hips, she walked to the bathroom.
Max turned his chair toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. He looked out at Orario, watching the rising sun paint the walls of the city in gold. The view from the top of Folkvangr was breathtaking, a reminder of just how high he had climbed in such a short time.
Twenty minutes later, the bathroom door opened.
Freya walked out. She was immaculate, her silver hair brushed to a shine, her makeup perfect. She was wearing her usual attire—the black and crimson dress that hugged her curves and radiated authority.
Max felt a pang of disappointment.
Freya caught his look immediately. She glanced down at her dress, then back at him, amusement dancing in her eyes. She noticed the way his gaze lingered on where the soft white nightgown had been.
She didn't comment, but the corner of her lip quirked upward.
They ate breakfast in comfortable silence, the only sounds the clinking of silverware and Kairu happily dissolving magic stones in his bowl.
When the meal was finished, Freya wiped her mouth delicately with a napkin. She reached under the table and produced a heavy, leather-bound book.
Max looked at it in surprise. It was identical to the one he saw in anime—dark leather, pulsing with latent power.
"I thought... I thought I had to ask Ottar for this," Max stammered.
Freya slid the Grimoire across the table toward him.
"Ottar manages the armory," she said with a soft smile. "But I wanted to give this to you myself. Your reward for your effort and endurance. Use it well, Max."
Max looked up, his eyes searching hers with a mixture of gratitude and confusion. He couldn't just accept it. The logic didn't track.
"Why?" he asked, his voice tight. "You know my magic is different. You know I am different. Why still give me this? I didn't even earn enough to pay for the binding, let alone the contents."
His hands tightened around the leather cover, knuckles turning white. It felt like charity. It felt like he was being bought, not for his potential, but for his novelty.
Freya, seeing the walls of his logic rising, reached across the table. She hooked a single, manicured finger under his chin and gently pulled his face up until he had no choice but to look at her.
"From the moment you agreed to join me—to indulge me—you gave up the right to reason for my actions," she said softly, her thumb brushing his cheekbone. "As per the Familia rules, any mage is entitled to a Grimoire eventually. But since you are... very special, how could I not give you one?"
She gestured vaguely at the room around them—at the faint remnants of the magic circle on her bed, at his healed hand.
"I believe in you, Max. Take today, for example. You came here without prompting. You developed a teleportation method and a healing technique despite being exhausted every single day of your Baptism. You have this endless, voracious drive to improve. And as I said when we met... I want to nurture that."
She leaned in closer, her scent filling his senses. "I understand you tend to overthink scenarios, calculating debts and values. But you must understand—my fellow deities and I are far more fickle than you believe. We are just like other mortals. We have impulses, favorites, desires. We simply have the Arcanum to act on them instantly. That is the only difference."
Max wanted to accept. He really did. But the whispers of too good to be true and what's the catch? were loud in his mind.
His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the conversation when they first met in the Hostess. She mentioned "a dark god" targeting him—a third-rate Familia trying to find him. He'd brushed it off as her trying to protect someone who caught her eye at the time.
But looking at the priceless book sitting on the table... that made twice she had gone to extreme lengths for him. Three times, if he counted her indulging his insane request to fight Ottar unblessed.
It wasn't just generosity. It was consistency.
But even with that realization, he hesitated. Freya seemed to sense the exact nature of his resistance—that fear that he was just a shiny toy to be polished.
Her expression softened, losing the playful edge and settling into something profound.
"I'm not giving this to you because I pity you, or because I want to buy your loyalty," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I am giving it to you because I noticed something about you, Max. Something... unique."
Max's breath caught. "What?"
"You look at me differently."
Her thumb brushed his cheek again, a feather-light touch that somehow felt heavier than any binding spell.
"You don't admire me like the masses who see only beauty. You don't desire me like the fools who think I'm a prize to be won. You aren't devout like my executives, who worship the ground I walk on. And you aren't blindly loyal like Ottar, who would tear the world apart at my command."
Her eyes locked onto his, stripping away his defenses.
"You see me as a person, Max. As a woman. Not a goddess. Not a legend. Just... me." She tilted her head slightly, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips.
"Isn't that the reason you refuse to call me 'Goddess' and always address me as 'Lady'?"
Max froze.
He hadn't consciously realized he'd been doing that. But now that she'd pointed it out—
Shit. She's right.
Every time. Lady Freya. Never Goddess Freya.
It wasn't deliberate defiance. It was instinct. Because when he looked at her, he didn't see divinity. He saw a woman who was brilliant, cunning, and lonely—human in all the ways that mattered, despite the Arcanum flowing through her veins. He saw someone whose life, in some twisted way, mirrored his own: surrounded by people, yet isolated. Admired, yet unseen.
Freya's hand slipped from his chin to cup his cheek, her touch impossibly gentle.
"Do you know how rare that is? To be seen as just a person?" Her smile widened, a mix of vulnerability and warmth. "That's why I gave you the Grimoire. So when I say I want to nurture your growth, I mean it. Not as a goddess cultivating a tool, but as someone who found another soul who understands what it's like to be alone in a crowd."
Max felt the last of his walls crumble.
He looked down at the Grimoire, then back at her. She wasn't manipulating him. She wasn't buying him. She was connecting with him, laying that connection bare without armor or pretense.
How the hell was he supposed to argue with that?
Max let out a shaky breath, a small, helpless smile tugging at his lips. "You're not playing fair, you know."
Freya's laugh was soft, musical. "I never do."
He picked up the Grimoire, feeling its weight settle in his hands—no longer a burden of debt, but a gift of trust. "Alright. I accept."
His expression turned serious, matching the intensity in her eyes. "But if I'm going to take this, then I'm going to make damn sure it's worth your investment. Deal?"
Freya's smile turned radiant. "Deal."
Now with mind lighter and heart content, he opened the cover.
FLASH.
The world turned white.
Sound vanished. Gravity dissolved. Max felt a sensation like being pulled through a straw, his consciousness stretching and compressing until—
Pop.
He was standing on something soft.
Max blinked, looking around. He was standing on a cloud. A golden cloud.
The environment stretched out infinitely in all directions—a sea of cumulus gold under a sky that shifted colors like an aurora.
"Okay," Max muttered, looking at his hands. They were translucent. "This looks exactly like the depictions of Heaven in DxD. Did the Grimoire kill me? Is this the afterlife lobby?"
"WELCOME, PLAYER!"
An animated, mechanical voice boomed from behind him.
Max spun around.
Floating there, amidst the divine atmosphere, was a Slot Machine.
It was classic, gaudy, and neon-lit, looking completely out of place against the spiritual backdrop. The lever on the side was shaped like a lightning bolt, and the reels were blank.
"Am I supposed to be a gambler?" Max asked aloud, deadpanning at the absurdity of his subconscious.
"PLEASE PULL THE LEVER TO ACQUIRE YOUR MAGIC," the machine chirped, its screen flashing with 8-bit sparkles.
Max looked around the "room." Now that he focused, he saw that the golden clouds weren't empty. They were filled with floating bubbles, and inside each bubble was a scene.
He saw fire dragons roaring. He saw gravity collapsing. He saw distinct, copyrighted imagery that definitely didn't belong in Danmachi.
Wait, Max realized, stepping closer to a bubble drifting by. That's a Rasengan. That one is a Stand Arrow. That one over there looks like a Devil Fruit. And is that the Almighty??
His mind raced. The Grimoire forces a slot open based on the user's nature. He turned slowly, taking in the chaotic mix. It's pulling from everything I am—DanMachi, Earth, DxD. Every world I'm connected to.
He let out a breathless laugh. Hell of a guy Freya chose to give this thing to.
The slot machine hummed, as if sensing his understanding.
"PLEASE PULL THE LEVER," it insisted, vibrating impatiently.
Max looked at the machine, then at the sea of bubbles surrounding him. It's trying to pull a concept to fill the slot. From all of this.
The unknown nature of it made him hesitate. He wasn't a gambler by nature. He liked calculated risks, plans, guarantees. Leaving his new power up to RNG felt wrong.
But then he remembered.
He remembered the girl in the crosswalk. He remembered the truck. That had been a gamble—throwing his life away on the instinct that he could save her. And that gamble had paid off with a second life, a new world, and power beyond his wildest dreams.
Maybe trusting his luck wasn't so bad.
Suddenly, a golden light descended from the shifting sky, enveloping both Max and the machine. It felt warm, reassuring. A divine intervention? Or just his own soul telling him to trust the process?
"Alright," Max said, stepping up to the machine. "Let's see what I get."
He grabbed the lightning-bolt lever and yanked it down.
The reels spun. They blurred into a dizzying kaleidoscope of powers. The world around him spun with it, spiraling into a vortex of concept and possibility. Max saw flashes—Haki, Bankai, Stands—and for a split second, he could have sworn he saw a blue slime grinning at him.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
The reels slammed into place.
Golden light exploded from the machine, intensifying until Max had to shield his eyes. Letters formed in the air, burning with power.
INDEPENDENT ACTION
A loud, booming voice resonated from all directions, shaking the golden clouds.
"SO BE IT." The confirmation came as if a god were pronouncing a judgement.
With that, everything imploded, and Max was ejected back to reality.
--> Devil in a Dungeon <--
AN:
Well, we finally see what Freya was upto and the magic Max got.
Thanks to everyone who gave their suggestions!!
I'm sure those of you who watch Fate know what this signify, but my take was quite different to the magic. We will see what the magic does in the next chapter along with the status update for Baptism.
Do share your thoughts on how was Freya's convincing scene, his new magic and how much gains he would get from the Baptism in a review/comment.
I am going out of town on a personal trip and won't have my laptop to update the chapter here. You'll get double update on Friday the 30th to make up for this gap. So next update will be on Tuesday.
If you'd like to read 4 chapters ahead, support my work, or commission a story idea, visit p.a.t.r.e.o.n.c.o.m/b3smash.
Please note that the chapters are early access only, they will be eventually released here as well.
Ben, Out.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.